


Meet the Clan

by BitterPill



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I haven't written in so long, Post-Tresspasser, i am so rusty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 04:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19783378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterPill/pseuds/BitterPill
Summary: So Cullen and Inquisitor Lavellan got married... He should probably meet the family, right?Or: A series of scenes with the Lavellan Clan.





	Meet the Clan

**Author's Note:**

> So my Inquisitor actually ended in a pretty good place by the time Trespasser was through (I am as surprised as anyone). And like... five years later I went back and tried the Solas romance and had to write some complete fluff to heal my heart.
> 
> So here, some heart-healing fluff I wrote while bored at work. If this manages to entertain anyone for even a few minutes, I'll be happy.

The horses’ heads are low to the ground as they stroll towards their destination, stretching and relaxed in a complete contrast to the tense and alert Cullen sitting stiff and tight on the bay’s back. The Inquisitor, she’s not worried, but a vague amusement hangs about her, conveyed in glances, the twitch of her lips and the tilt of her eyebrows.

“You do know it’s not true that the Dalish eat people, right?” she asks.

He looks at her so horrified that she almost feels bad for the tease. Almost.

“Of course I do, I would never think—” He catches her look and his face relaxes (though no other part of him does). He sighs in exasperation, either at himself or her, or both. She’s been training him to take the teasing and throw it back at her. It was hard, but sweet to break through the initial sheer adoration. He is careful in what he does, and mindful of others, always (though not _always_ , as he would tell her of his shames and self-doubts) and she loves him for it, but life is not the same without some gentle ribbing. “ _That_ is not my worry.”

“Then what is?” she asks.

He looks at her like it’s so obvious he can barely believe she has to ask, but answers all the same. “Your clan. The ones who raised you, trained you, have known you all your life. And I’m meeting them _after_ the marriage. To which they weren’t even invited. Or informed of!”

Lolo chuckles, “They don’t mind, it’s not like they’ve never heard of you, ma vhenan. They’re happy for us. And besides, I’ve met your family, and you can’t say Mia isn’t a strong personality.”

“Yes, but there’s not nearly so _many_ of my family. I’ll never remember all their names!”

“You’re not expected to,” says Lolo in her kind-but-brooks-no-questioning way. “And if they say you are, they’re teasing. They will do that, I grant you.”

“Plus, you’re not…” He sighs, his speech coming haltingly. “You’re not… a shemlen.” He is still so tentative and careful with Elvish words in a way that makes her heart melt a little.

She reaches her hand out to him across the gap between their horses, then remembers she doesn’t have it any more and pulls the stump back to her side. The move doesn’t go unnoticed. “They don’t mind about that,” she tells him. It’s mostly true. “They trust me. They trusted me to go to the Enclave. They trust me to look out for them still. They trust me to find a good person, Elvhen or no, to be my partner in life.”

“But still,” he insists, “Such partnerings are… not usually smiled upon.”

“Your family was very welcoming,” says Lolo.

“You’re the _Inquisitor_ ,” says Cullen, “You could have been a Qunari mage and they would still welcome you.”

Lolo holds up her stump. “ _Was_ the Inquisitor. Officially. Don’t let Josephine hear you slipping up like that.”

Cullen snorts. “Of course, my mistake. But my point still stands.”

“It does,” she allows. “And sure, some will think the Dalish Inquisitor should be paired up with a good Dalish man to have good Dalish babies and _preserve the blood_.” She sighs, and it sounds so tired his heart aches for her. “The past isn’t what we thought it was; what are we preserving?” she asks quietly. “The present is what we have. We should take what joy we can with both hands,” she finishes on a small smile.

“Yes,” says Cullen, “We must.” His shoulders inch slowly down from their tense position around his ears. He reaches across the gap to clasp her arm above the elbow. “Is there anything I can do?”

She looks at him slyly. “Don’t call anyone a knife-ear.”

“Duly noted.” Cullen nods, lets go of her arm and looks ahead, ever the stern captain.

Lolo chuckles and looks at him. Her laughter cuts off in a gasp and a stern, “Do. Not.” Full of the power of the Inquisitor, no matter that it is no longer her official title.

He turns to her, mildly alarmed but mostly confused because surely she understood that he wouldn’t, that the thought of saying it had never crossed his mind? She isn’t looking at him, though, she is looking over his shoulder. He turns again, in time to see a young elf drop out of the trees. He and his horse only mildly startle.

“I was only playing,” he says, looking down at his feet.

“You do not sneak up on a trained soldier,” says Lolo, though her voice has lost the full force of the Inquisition and sounds more like an angry older sister (and perhaps that’s why she and Mia had got on so well). “Do you leap on the back of a wolf caught unawares?”

“No, Hearthkeeper Lolo,” says the young man, looking sorry for himself.

Lolo pauses, a strange look coming over her face. “No,” she says slowly, “You do not. Ah,” she relents, “Ghillan, come here.” She dismounts, gives a quick scratch and a quiet thanks to her steed for carrying her before meeting the boy. They hug in front of the horses.

Cullen dismounts and gives his horse a pat. He feels foolish saying thank you to it, but it seems rude not to, when Lolo does it so easily for her horse.

“Ghillan, how you’ve grown!” says Lolo declares and the gangly Ghillan glows proudly. “And you have your vallaslin!” She holds a hand to his face and runs her thumb over the crest of his cheekbone where they lie.

“Got them last year!” Ghillan declares proudly, his face a shining grin.

She ruffles his hair as they break apart. “Good man,” she tells him.

“What happened to your arm?” he asks immediately, putting his hands on the stump of her arm.

Cullen steps forward, but Lolo doesn't look bothered. "It's the price I paid for being able to close all the fade breaches."

Ghillan's face scrunches up. "That's not fair!"

Lolo's face scrunches up in reply. "When has anything ever been _fair?_ " she asks him like it was given. "No it's not. But it's a price I would pay again."

"But then you wouldn't have any hands," says Ghillan. "How would you eat?"

Lolo looks flummoxed.

It's a good question.

"Ghillan!" comes a call from further into the trees, "What did I say about running off?"

"Not to," replies Ghillan. "But I didn't run."

Lolo looks pained and pats Ghillan on the shoulder. "Poor effort, da'len" she tells him, "You're going to have to do better than that to talk yourself out of trouble."

"She's not wrong," says the newcomer to Ghillan and he walks up to them. But his face changes, softens when he looks at Lolo, an old and deep affection in his eyes. "Lolo… _"_ He speaks softly in elvish as they embrace. Cullen shifts and scratches his horse behind the ear to busy his suddenly twitchy hands.

"I've missed you too, Felan," Lolo replies as she draws away from their tight hold. "All of you. It has been a... long few years."

"That it has." Felan's gaze flicks down to the arm with a premature end, then over to Cullen. "And you must be the storied Commander Cullen!" Felan turns to him smiling, it seems genuine.

"Yes," Cullen is saved from bashfully rubbing the back of his neck by Felan's hand outstretched for him to shake. "Though I am no longer in command of much."

"Just our Lolo's heart," says Felan with a tilt of his head.

"Command?" says Cullen, "I wouldn't dare."

Felan laughs and slaps him on the shoulder. "You have a wise one here," he tells Lolo.

"Idiots aren't my type, you know that," she replies, quiet amusement radiating from her.

Felan sends her a smile Cullen can't read, before saying, "Well, Ghillan, fetch the packs," he points to Cullen's horse, "We'd better head before nightfall."

They detach a large bulk of the belongings from the saddle bags and carry them on their own backs. Lolo hooks the reins over the saddle and lets her horse walk free of guidance, trusting that it will follow.

Cullen can't quite bring himself to trust his horse not to dally until the dead of night and leads the animal loosely.

Lolo comes to his side that she may take his hand. The other two elves are on the far side of the horses and Cullen gets the distinct impression they are doing what they can to offer some privacy. He is grateful for it. "Everything alright so far, vhenan?"

"Yes!" he says, and he hears himself say it too quickly. "But... you can speak Elvish - _Elvehn_ \- around me. Do not hold back on my account."

"And make this even harder for you than it has to be?" she asks, "No."

"I do not want to come between you and-"

"You're not," she says with gentle finality. "We're Dalish, but we're welcoming. It's sort of the Lavellan Clan thing."

The other two come back around, giving them space but seeing that their talk is more or less over, they all walk on to their destination. Leaving the silence if they still need it. 

With the Inquisitor's hand twining with his, Cullen finds he does not need it. "So, Hearthkeeper Lolo?" he asks.

Lolo snorts. "I wasn't really. I was just good at weaving, and the right age to look after the children when the Hahren got sick of them."

"You mean the right age to teach them how to do your duties so you could go practice your bow?" says Falen.

Lolo nods enthusiastically and unrepentant. "Yes, that."

"I think most of the rope we have, even now, was made under your tender care."

Lolo laughs. "It's good to know that I left something to remember me by. How is the staying in one place treating you all?"

"It's not so different," says Felan.

"We have so much stuff!" cries Ghillan.

“I know!” says Lolo, to Cullen’s surprise. “So much stuff you can just keep! And you should’ve seen the tables in the Great Hall at Skyhold. They could seat twenty! And there were four of them!”

“You could fit so much food on those tables!” Ghillan joins in, building off the excitement.

Felan looks over Ghillan’s and the Inquisitor’s heads as they continue to enthuse about _stuff_ and picking up _pointless things_ and having _cellars_. “He’s a growing boy,” he says flatly to Cullen.

“I understand,” says Cullen, “I was one myself, once.”

Felan smiles, and then slips around the two gossiping like children to walk at Cullen’s side. “I know the Keeper will want to thank you more formally, but I wanted to personally thank you for the help you gave us when we needed it.”

“Oh, well, it was all the Inquisitor’s decision to send the—” Cullen is interrupted by a quick elbow to his side. Lolo is still chatting swiftly with Ghillan and looks for all the world like she’s not paying attention to them, but clearly she is. Cullen draws himself up. “You are most welcome, I am glad that I could play my part to help you. I regret that you needed our help at all.”

“Ah,” Felan gives him a friendly pat, “Nobles will blame the elves, it’s what they do.” His until-now self-assured face turns worried. “You’re not noble, are you?”

“No,” Cullen smiles, “No, all my finery belonged to the Chantry at first, and then to the Inquisition. I am not poor, but nobility was never in my future.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, vhenan,” says Lolo transitioning smoothly from her conversation with Ghillan, “You could have had the hand of any one of those lovely Orlesian ladies.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Lolo grins.

\--- 

They arrive at the Dalish campsite to blazing fires and what seems to be every last one of the Clan is out to see them arrive. Then more are called over.

Keeper Istimaethoriel stands at the front of the throng and opens her arms. “Lolargananiel, welcome home.”

Lolo goes to her and is enveloped in a hug.

Cullen watches, pleased for her. When she pulls back from the Keeper the rest take that as a cue to move in and make their own greetings. She would be lost in the crowd were Cullen not a head taller than everyone.

Once some of the fervour has died down, Lolo dodges out of the crowd and grabs his hand. “Come on, they want to meet you too!”

She pulls him to the Keeper, who he bows before. “It is an honour.”

She inclines her head. “Likewise. We have heard much about you.”

Cullen schools his face. “That is… surprising.”

The Keeper laughs. “We have swapped many tales with the Inquisition soldiers, and Lolargananiel has mentioned you a few times as well.” She smiles happily at them both.

“I’m sorry,” says Cullen, “What—or who has mentioned me?”

“Lolargananiel.” At Cullen’s continued nonplussed look, she explains further. “Your wife.”

“My…” Cullen looks at Lolo.

“That’s my full name,” she says sheepishly.

“Lolargananiel!” says the Keeper and Cullen gets the absurd, yet distinct feeling that Lolo, the Inquisitor, is cringing away. “You have a good, strong, Elvish name. Are you telling me you have spent these last years going about as Inquisitor _Lolo_?”

“Inquisitor Lavellan, really,” Lolo clarifies, in a clear attempt to dodge the topic. “Usually just Inquisitor. Herald of Andraste sometimes. Or just Herald. Your Worship. I’ve had a few names recently.”

“But _Lolo?_ ”

“My friends call me that!” Lolo protests, “Just like they call me it here.”

“But you have not even told your _husband_ your true name.” The Keeper points to him. “Do you feel you must keep your Elvehn locked away? Are you _ashamed?”_

“No!” cries Lolo, “I’m just following the long _Elvhen_ tradition of having a name children can pronounce. Bestowed upon me by the Elvhen of my Clan."”

“Do you think your Inquisition children?”

Lolo rolls her eyes harder than Cullen thinks he has ever seen. And he’s seen her do some pretty good ones when talking to Vivienne. “I don’t know why you’d assume it was anything to do with that. I thought we’d put this to rest when you gave me my vallaslin.”

“I’d hoped you would grow out of it.”

"I hoped I'd grown out of having this argument," says Lolo and Cullen can see in his mind's eye the two of them much younger. "You think it's undignified, well I think it's undignified to go over all this again in front of everyone on my first time back in years."

The Keeper's face softens. "You are right da'len, this is no welcome for you. And Cullen, forgive me for my poor hospitality."

"Not at all. Lolo-- uh Lolarganiel--"

"-gananiel," Lolo gently corrects.

"Lolargananiel," he pauses for correction but receives none. "Had to listen to my siblings bicker constantly when we visited. It's heartening to see our families are not so different."

The Keeper nearly laughs. "I am glad that's what you take from all this, da'len. You are as welcome here as any of the People. Your men spoke highly of you, and their actions were vital in securing our lives.”

Cullen burns with the want to insist that it was ultimately Lolo’s decision, but Lolo’s look and headshake are more serious than her usual chiding that he takes his due.

The Keeper bows her head. “Ma serannas, Cullen Rutherford, we are in your debt.”

Cullen’s eyes widen, immediately wanting to negate her words, but he restrains himself. He bows deeply to give himself time to think. “I am honoured, more than honoured. But consider it a debt repaid for sending your Clan… sister to us.”

The Keeper regards him with kind eyes that have seen much. “Very well,” she says, “As you say, our debts are cleared, and you are always welcome in our Clan.”

“And you are always welcome at my- at uh, our home. And, uh—”

“Thank you,” the Keeper interrupts, smiling. “This is my First,” she directs towards the elf standing beside her, “Namlin.”

“A pleasure,” says Cullen, relieved to have the weight of diplomacy taken off his shoulders. They incline their heads to one another before Namlin’s sharp eyes turn to Lolo’s arm.

“You don’t have your hand anymore,” he says.

Lolo’s eyes narrow. “No,” she says slowly, “I don’t.”

“I heard it was Elven magic. I wanted to study it,” he explains. “You don’t happen to have kept it?”

“No, Namlin,” says Lolo, exasperation becoming clear. “I’m sorry. Next time my hand disappears into little pieces of Fade dust, I’ll bring a jar to catch it all in.”

Namlin’s eyes jump from Lolo’s arm to her face. “Ir abelas, Lolo, I didn’t think. Of course, I am glad you still live, and that you have returned to us. I-“

Lolo puts a hand on his shoulder. “Congratulations on becoming First, Namlin.” She tells him, her face washed free of exasperation. “You have a good teacher, and you will be successful so long as you attend to _all_ your studies, not just the parts you find most interesting.”

Namlin bows his head. “Thank you for your wisdom.”

Lolo looks surprised, then grins. “Any time. You know I love an opportunity to tell people what to do.”

“Lolargananiel!” the next woman in line breaks her composure.

“Mamae!” Lolo cries and envelops herself in the woman’s arms. Their reunion is a flurry of affection and murmured Elven phrases that Cullen couldn’t hope to understand. Eventually, Lolo held her hand out to him and beckoned him closer. “Cullen, this Mamae.”

Cullen once again bows. “It is an honour, Mamae.”

A murmur of amusement runs around those still paying attention and Cullen’s head snaps up.

“Vhenan, sorry,” says Lolo, pressing her fingertips to her mouth. “I mean, this is my mother. Her name is Sellana.”

“Oh,” Cullen’s eyes widen, realising what he must have said, and the reason for the amusement.

Sellana steps forward and takes his hands in hers. “You try,” she says, “And that means more than you can know. You are family now. You can call me Mamae, if you wish.”

“Watch out,” says Lolo, “She might start treating you like one of her children and you wouldn’t want that.”

Sellana hisses something in Elvish and smacks Lolo lightly on the arm. Lolo laughs and hugs her mother from behind. “Do you like him then?”

“Well,” says Sellana, looking him up and down. “I like everything I’ve seen so far.”

Cullen ducks his head bashfully, his hands still caught in his mother-in-law’s. He hears a particularly loud laughter from somewhere. It sounds a lot like Felan.

\--

Cullen nearly regrets wearing all his armour when he sees the amount of space it takes up piled in a corner of the tent. But then they are alone and in their own tent as husband and wife, and Cullen can regret nothing that brought him here. He is sitting on their (their!) bedroll and she is kneeling before him, the top of her messy hair touching the roof of the tent. She straddles his legs and lowers herself slowly to sit on his thighs. He rests a hand at her waist.

“How was your first evening?” She asks, cupping his cheek.

“Enlightening,” he replies, “You are very like your mother.”

Lolo laughs. “Not the worst comparison I’ve ever had. It wasn’t too overwhelming?”

“I have never been to a Dalish camp before. I mean it when I say I am honoured to be welcomed. It is not as bad as I was worried it would be, if that is what you are asking. I daresay it has been more trying for you. Would you like me to write you a statement on your hand? I do not have Josephine’s way with words, but I think I would be able to get the basics across.”

“Very kind of you to offer,” says Lolo, smiling as she strokes his cheek with her thumb. “Truthfully, I don’t mind all that much.” She raises her stump to look at it, the sleeve of her nightshirt cut short so the empty end doesn’t get in the way. “I couldn’t control it, it hurt, and it was killing me. It was a small price to pay, really. So many of our soldiers and agents gave more because of their faith in me, in us and our cause.” She shrugs. “The mages have already offered to find a way to give me a magic hand, and I can barely stop Varric from commissioning some beautifully engineered masterpiece for me. I am blessed.” She frowns slightly. “Or lucky.”

“You are beautiful,” says Cullen.

Lolo smiles. “Well, thank you, ma vhenan. It’s good to know I am at least that.”

“At least?” says Cullen. “No, I mean that everything about you is beautiful. Your thoughtfulness, your care, your—” he is interrupted by Lolo’s finger against his lips. Her eyes slide suspiciously to the wall of the tent.

She leans over and smacks it, causing a small yelp from the other side. She frowns and storms out, cursing in Elven. “Do you know what Fen’Harel does to children he finds out of their tents after dark?” Her voice is barely muffled by the canvas. “Go on, get!” There a few Elven squeals of children and feet pattering away.

Cullen leans back on his elbows as Lolo returns and re-seals the tent-flap. “What does Fen’Harel do?” he asks.

Lolo makes a disgusted noise very reminiscent of Cassandra. “Don’t remind me.” She crawls next to him and pulls at the bedroll, indicating they should be getting into it. “It’s like if you knew the Maker was wandering around Thedas and every time you tell someone to go to the Void you remember that they really might.” She slides neatly into the bedroll beside him and he wraps an arm tight around her. “Not that I think Solas is actually stealing children in the night. It’s just something we say. Except it isn’t any more. Everything’s changed. Even though it’s stayed the same.” She groans and buries her face in his chest.

He rubs her back. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, feeling its inadequacy while at the same time knowing he can’t exactly relate, nor can he pretend he fully understands what it means to her.

She tightens her hold on him in return and looks up at him, her chin resting on his breastbone. “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

He smiles. “And I love you. I wish I could take more of this burden from your shoulders.”

She shakes her head slightly. “It’s not yours to take.” She gazes at him a moment longer, and Cullen wonders what she sees. “But if you want to give me hugs after I explain the whole sorry mess to the Clan tomorrow, I will not object.”

“My hugs are always available to you,” he assures her, “You do not want to take a day’s rest before you stir all that up?”

“Better to lance the wound,” she tells him. “And I have to tell Keeper Istimaethoriel anyway. May as well get it all out of the way at once.”

“You are welcome to use me as a sounding board,” says Cullen, though he can’t hold back the yawn that immediately follows his offer.

Lolo chuckles. “I’d rather use you as a pillow.”

“I have no objections to that, either.”

Lolo slips her hand into his nightshirt to rest over his heart and lays her head down on his chest. “Hey, now I don’t have to worry about where my other arm goes,” she says quietly.

Cullen makes an amused hum. “Yes, that arm was only ever in the way, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t know why I ever wanted it,” Lolo agrees.

\---

The next morning, Lolo does not change into her usual clothes. At least, Cullen reflects, the clothes that he is used to her wearing.

“Do you mind?” she asks, presenting the ties of her trousers. She is well on the way to mastering the one-handed button fastening, but tying knots still proves beyond her ability.

“Of course not,” says Cullen, tying the laces for her. “Are these your old clothes?”

“Yes,” she answers. “It’ll be nice to wear something comfy again. I’ll have to get someone to do my leg wraps, though.”

“I could,” Cullen offers.

“Mm,” says Lolo, giving him an evaluating look. “There’s sort of a knack to it. You can watch and learn the first time.”

Cullen nods.

Lolo grabs the wrappings and goes to open the tent.

“Wait!” the impulse to reach and grab her is so strong that he barely stops himself from doing it. “You’re going out like that?”

Lolo nods, “Yeah.”

“Is that not underwear?”

Lolo smiles and shakes her head.

The top that he thought was an ornate undergarment is, apparently, all that she feels the need to wear. Maker, but that is a lot of skin on show.

“That is… normal? Around here?”

Lolo nods. “It’s not for fighting, or for Ferelden, but for warmer places it’s lovely.”

\---

“Truly? You’re alright with it?”

Keeper Istimaethoriel smiles sadly and strokes a hand down Lolo’s cheek. “I wish it were different. I wish you could return to us.”

“I have returned,” says Lolo, putting her hand over the Keeper’s. “I’m here!”

“I know, da’len, I just wish you could have returned to us fully. Not with one foot in our world and one in theirs.”

“I’m back,” Lolo instists, holding the Keeper’s hand tighter. “I’m back, you can ask anything of me and I would do it!”

The Keeper raises her eyebrows slightly. “Oh, da’len, do not listen to me. I only wish you would stay out of selfishness, to keep you all for us. But you would not be happy. You would never have been happy with that.”

“W-what do you mean? I would—I love the Clan, I would give everything, I would die—”

Keeper Istimaethoriel lays a finger over Lolo’s lips. “Why do you think I sent you to the Conclave?” She removes her finger so Lolo can reply.

“Because I’m good at what I do? And I’m loyal. And clever. And it wouldn’t hurt the Clan for me to go.”

The Keeper smiles sadly again. “Yes, da’len, all of those things. And that you never fit here.”

“What?” Lolo asks, tears rising in her eyes. “This is—What? It’s my, my _Clan_. If I don’t fit here, where do I fit?”

“Then you would return to us? Leave behind everything you have made for yourself? You would _fit_ here, content to hunt while your husband, your friends, your Inquisition were out there?”

“N-no, but—”

“And will it pull at you?” the Keeper points to Lolo’s heart, “Here? When you are out there doing your work, will you always feel a pull to come back? Will you wish that you could only be here with us, that you are only doing your duty until you return?”

“I-I—” Tears break free of Lolo’s eyes. As she struggles between the answer she wants to give, and the answer she knows is true.

“It is fine, da’len. The Dalish are a tree, a vhenadahl. We are set in our ways and take a long time to change.”

“A tree,” Lolo swallows, “A tree bends- bends to the wind so it doesn’t break,”

“Yes, we bend and grow.” The Keeper nods, “But you are a river, da’len, swift and strong, and you stop for no tree.”

“Wh-what?”

“ _Lolo_ ,” says Keeper Istimaethoriel, bringing Lolo to a shocked silence. “We would never have held you, not truly. You have always questioned, always wandered, always been too curious. We are proud, da’len, _proud_ of you, of everything you have accomplished. We are proud of being the place you call home, of being a welcome rest for you.”

“No,” says Lolo, “No, I’m not different. I’m not, not better than the rest of the Dalish—”

“Better?” asks the Keeper, “Da’len, what is better? What is in your head? Tell me.”

“Just,” Lolo sighs heavily. “Just something Solas said. He said the Dalish must do something right because they produced me, like I was the only good thing the Dalish had.”

“Lolargananiel,” says the Keeper, “You spent hours yesterday telling us not to believe Fen’Harel’s words.”

“I- I know. He’s… I don’t… he’s not _right_. I don’t want—he’s _not right_.”

“No,” says the Keeper, “He’s not.”

They sit there, together, in silence. 

“Then what is it?” The Keeper asks at last.

“He was my friend, Keeper.” Lolo tries valiantly not to cry. “He was my friend and I trusted him. He was a bit of a prig, sure, but what elf isn’t?” She laughs wetly, but Keeper Istimaethoriel doesn’t join in, just stays with her, waiting kindly. “I, I care about him,” Lolo continues. “I’m so angry at him. He’s making such a mistake…”

“And you care about him,” says the Keeper.

“I care about the world he wants to destroy, more than him,” Lolo replies angrily.

“Yes,” says the Keeper, “But you care about him, too. You care, Lolo. And that is not just you, that is not just the Dalish, that is everyone. Everyone cares for their friends when they make a mistake, even when they betray us.”

“Even when they want to destroy the world?” Lolo asks.

“Even so, da’len.”

Lolo holds onto her and fails in her attempts not to cry. She laughs through the tears. “You’re really good at bullshitting.”

“Yes,” says the Keeper, “It comes with the territory.”

\---

The hunters return, heralded by their singing and the calls of their halla. It is hard for Cullen to remember he is not living in a legend, it is so unlike the normality of a Ferelden marching song, a bawdy tavern song, or even a Chantry choir. It sounds triumphant all the same.

“A successful hunt?” Cullen asks Sellana.

The song breaks off into laughter and Sellana smiles. “No. At least, they didn’t catch anything. They had fun, though.”

“Oh…” says Cullen, uncertain how the news should be taken, though no one seemed worried.

Sellana pats his hand. “We will not starve for one failed hunt. We are well stocked.”

Cullen nods. “Good. If that is ever not the case—”

“We will ask you, yes,” says Sellana. “You are family, you will be called on if we need you. I don’t think Lolargananiel properly explained what you were marrying into.”

“I think she half suspected she would die,” says Cullen. He remembers her fear. She had readily admitted being scared of Corypheus before she faced him, but her own hand bringing her to her knees with increasing frequency had shaken her more than any outside force.

Sellana grips his hand. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that is the only reason she married you.”

“I would not think that of her,” Cullen protests.

Sellana gives him a look reminiscent of Lolo. A Lolo that doesn’t entirely believe his protestations that he is fine. “There is a great pressure on those that leave the Clan to return back to us,” says Sellana, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the fear of death let her have what she really wanted. She is decisive when something needs doing, but slow to take things for herself.” Sellana smiles. “You can imagine the kick I got out of her writing to complain of that exact same thing about you.”

Cullen ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck. “She mentions me, does she? I hope it’s not a bore.”

Sellana chuckles. “Maybe a little. Don’t tell her I said so. But she doesn’t like to write with bad news, I never got the ‘Mamae the Qunari are trying to kill everyone, I’m chasing the Dread Wolf and my hand keeps exploding’ letter. You bring her joy. And to be honest, after all she told us that happened, I treasure every word of her worrying about you taking on too much, even more.”

“Mamae!” Lolo shouts, “You’re not telling embarrassing things about me, are you? You promised you wouldn’t!”

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen exclaims as he rises. “What happened?”

Lolo is considerably scruffed up and her eye is blacking. Her new arm hangs by its strap around her neck. She laughs. “Oh, nothing much. The bow fell off my hand, my hand fell off my arm, I fell off the halla.”

“It was a sight to behold!” says one of the other hunters.

“Yes, and everyone beheld it happening.”

“But your eye,” says Cullen.

“Ah, yes, and my bow got me in the face on the way down.” She touches the space under her eye. “You can see it already?”

“It’s not bad,” says Cullen, “It was just unexpected.”

“Fear not,” says Lolo, “I’ve overcome worse.”

“That you have.”

\--

One thing that has become very apparent to Cullen over their few days with the Dalish is that there is very little privacy. No one _pries_ , exactly, just the children who Cullen has since seen looking very sorry for themselves in the Hahren’s care. But the camp is a relatively small space for such a number of people, and most importantly, there are no walls.

But Cullen does not want to draw his wife away from her family, and they are as welcoming as she promised they would be. Still. It’s not the same as having your own room. It’s like being a new recruit again, and he can’t help but feel too old for that.

“Would you like to go for a ride?” Lolo asks, gesturing to their horses all geared up and ready to go.

“Maker, yes,” He replies.

As they are riding, Lolo leading the way, “Is there an old spot you used to enjoy?” Cullen asks

“I think we only stayed here once before, and it wasn’t for that long. I can’t remember any particularly good spots. But it’s a nice day, and there are cliffs nearby, the view is probably nice.”

“Oh of course. Sorry. I forgot.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” says Lolo. “We grew up differently, lived different lives. I still don’t really understand Circles, and I’ve gathered that each one is a bit different anyway. Ah come on, Dread Wolf take the view, we’re far enough away from the camp, let’s find a good place to stop around here.” She pauses, sneers a little and rolls her eyes. “Of all the things he ruined, why did swearing have to be one of them?” she mutters.

“Come, the trees are thinner that way,” Cullen moves his horse to lead. “We can sit in the sun and not think about any of that.”

Cullen pointlessly helps Lolo down off her horse, for the closeness that they have not been able to have. Or that Cullen has not felt comfortable giving, surrounded by his wife’s mother, sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts, cousins, teachers, nieces, nephews… It’s a lot.

Lolo turns to her horse, “Ma serannas, Blossom.” And she does not tie them up, leaving them to wander wherever they may. But not before Lolo struggles to unhitch the saddlebags.

Cullen steps in and does it for her, while she huffs in brief frustration. “I brought some books,” she explains. “Food, drink, we can stay out here all day.” Cullen puts the bags on the floor, opening them and seeing the selection for himself. “Or you can, I don’t need to be here the whole time.”

“What do you mean?” Cullen asks.

“You like time to yourself,” Lolo says simply, running a hand through his hair while he’s bent over the bags. “You haven’t had any since we arrived. It has been _busy_ at the camp.”

“You can return to camp if you wish,” says Cullen, his heart filling with affection for her as he pulls out one of Brother Genitivi’s histories he remembers telling her he was interested in.

“Only if _you_ wish,” Lolo insists.

“I do not want to keep you from your family,” says Cullen.

“Please,” says Lolo, reaching down to pull an apple from the bag. “I’ve had five full days of nothing but family. Even back when I lived with them, I would have been out scouting or foraging, _something_ to get away from them all in that time.”

Cullen surges toward her, cupping the back of her head with his empty hand, he pulls her to meet his kiss. She laughs into the kiss, apple spilling from her mouth.

“Oh,” Cullen pulls back, having inadvertently stolen some of her food. “Sorry,” he starts, but her amusement is infectious, and he laughs as he wipes some of the juice from her chin.

She bites into her apple to hold it in her mouth while she reaches into the bag to pull out a second one, which she throws the Cullen. She removes the apple from her mouth to say, “If you’re that hungry.”

“Hungry for you,” he says, then stalls, on the verge of cringing at his own words, before he sees the flash in her eyes, the raised eyebrow, her smile curving upwards with a plan and her hip tilted to show off the curve of her (what he is trying to train himself not to think of as _underclad_ ) body.

“Well,” she says, eying him. “I think it’s only fair that you should have to hunt your quarry before you can devour her.”

“Hunt?” he puts the book down and steps closer to her.

She springs backwards, light on her feet as ever, and gives him a chiding look. “Hunt, chase,” she clarifies. “ _Catch_ me, Cullen.” She bounds to the treeline, but stops there to look back at him, to make sure he’s following.

“Very well,” he says, “If it’s a chase you want, then a chase you shall have.”

She disappears into the shadows, but he catches glimpses of her in the sunlight that filters through the leaves. He can also follow her girlish giggles and swaying branches.

Not that she is making it easy for him. Already warm from the sun, Cullen sheds his cloak before he plunges into the treeline after her. She moves fast. Whether or not she grew up specifically here, this is her home terrain. Her sheer joy at leading him on makes him think perhaps they have spent too long in the stone-walled and roofed world of his comfort. She has always been impressively able to keep the worries at bay, but he has never seen her quite so carefree.

And all his musing is getting him left behind.

He speeds up, his boots thudding loud compared to her wrapped feet. She leads him in a circle, never straying too far from their chosen picnic ground.

What pride Cullen has would like to say that he rightfully chased her down and bested her in the game, but truthfully she waits for him to catch up, sitting astride a branch and letting her feet dangle into his eyeline. His pride can say that she is at least out of breath.

He grabs hold of one of her feet. “I have you,” he declares.

Lolo snorts. “You always did. But can you get me down from here-AH!” She screams as Cullen pulls on her foot and pulls her sideways off the branch. She tries to catch hold of it, but having only one hand reduces her chance of grabbing on by half. She is left dangling with only one leg still hooked over the branch. The rest of her is at Cullen’s mercy in his arms.

She laughs, exhilarated. Her chest, now at Cullen’s eyeline, heaves with her breath. “Well, now I am in a pickle,” she says.

“Yes you are,” he agrees. He hooks his arms under her armpits and slowly walks backwards. There is resistance as she refuses to unbend her knee, but some poking in a particularly ticklish part of her waist has her writhing enough to unhook her leg.

“No, no!” she laughs breathlessly, as Cullen pulls her further. “Cullen. Cullen!” Her ankle finally slips free and Lolo’s bottom half flops to the ground, but she swiftly gets her feet under herself. She pulls away from Cullen.

“Oh no you don’t!” He holds her shoulders close and sweeps her legs up with his arms under her knees. “Do you yield?” he asks.

Lolo laughs, winding her arm around his neck.

“Do you yield?” he asks again, giving her a little shake as he walks them towards the clearing.

“Yes,” she finally gives, “I yield. You have caught me. You may do with me what you will.”

She lets her head fall back in exaggerated surrender, baring her neck to him. Leaves in her hair and scuffs on her skin from the running, its like he has tamed a wild nymph in his arms.

“Maker, but you are straight out of one of Jenkins’ stories,” Cullen says to himself.

Lolo’s head comes back up. “Who? Is that one of Varric’s competition? I’ve never seen any books like that one your shelves,” she says in quick succession.

Cullen chuckles. “No. No, he was a Templar I shared barracks with when I was a new recruit. We were barely men, and being… intimate with a woman was heavily discouraged. So naturally, the thought of it pre-occupied much of our time. Jenkins had a particularly active imagination.”

“Your bunkmate told dirty stories about the Dalish?” Lolo asks.

“I fear that repeating them would offend,” says Cullen, realising exactly the kind of dirt he was dredging up.

Lolo slaps him playfully on the shoulder. “No, come on, you said I reminded you of them, how?”

“Oh,” says Cullen, quickly picking out the general gist and leaving the lurid details safely in the past, “Lithe, scantily clad women, enticing unwitting men into the forest to have their way with them.”

Lolo throws her head back to laugh. “Sounds just like us!” she mocks.

“He was no more reverent of the Chantry sisters, I assure you. Becoming a Templar never struck me as a good choice for him.” Not that it had turned out to be a good choice for any of them stationed in the Ferelden Circle.

Jenkins had died there.

Nearly all he had trained with had died there.

Cullen drives off the shadows with the warmth of Lolo’s body. He kneels and gently lays Lolo on the sun-warmed grass. She uses the arm she has draped around his neck to pull him in for a kiss.

“Thank you for indulging me today,” she says.

“It’s barely a hardship to,” he tells her. “You seem… more carefree here.”

“Nearly all my Clan is alive,” says Lolo with a grin, “I knew it,” she taps her head, “But now I know it.” She presses a hand over her heart. “And Mamae is as fond of you as I hoped she’d be. She’ll be weaving something for you before the week is up.”

“She is a very kind woman,” says Cullen.

“And the Keeper and Clan accepted my word. They will turn all they can away from Fen’Harel.”

“You worried they would follow him?” asks Cullen. He’d had no idea that was bothering her.

Lolo shrugs. “A place on Wycome council is a great step. But it isn’t much compared to tearing down the veil. Solas is more powerful than anything seen in Thedas for thousands of years, I am not surprised if people think they will be safer on his side. Even knowing what he did. Even knowing that he’s a deceitful, arrogant idiot who doesn’t know how much of an idiot he is. Even knowing he’s the _Dread Wolf_ and whatever Solas complains about Evanuris propaganda he still did everything in our stories, he still left us to our fate, and now he’s disappointed with what we’ve become? He destroys the world, goes to sleep and has the gall to tell us we’re doing everything wrong? As if having power means that the world is his to shape. As if he is immune to his own hypocrisy. You’re a twat, Solas!” she shouts to the world at large, “An absolute twat!”

Cullen presses a kiss to her shoulder and Lolo sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. We’re supposed to be having a nice time.”

“We are,” he says. “Come, let me see what you have packed for our lunch. I seem to have lost my apple in the excitement.”

\--

They doze in the warm sun. Cullen is sitting against a tree and Lolo is sat between his legs, book abandoned in her lap in favour of holding Cullen’s arms around her. Cullen’s head has lolled forward to rest on her shoulder, and she will wake him before long to save his neck. But for now it is warm and she is snug and held in that place between waking and sleeping that is not quite either, but has qualities of both.

She is content to drift.

Movement in the trees draws her eyes to the darkness of the forest. She watches. Unworried, unhurried. She strokes her fingers over the hair on Cullen’s forearm.

A wolf walks by, unconcerned. Lolo watches, unconcerned.

The slow gears turning in her head note that she should be concerned, but it is not enough to actually make her.

She thinks she may have slipped further into sleep than she thought.

A theory she can test.

She watches the wolf. Look at me, she thinks.

It pauses.

_Look at me._

It does.

She looks into its eyes. All six of them. And she wakes.

**Author's Note:**

> Because you're telling me Solas "Hey, I just met you and this is crazy but I'll just wander into your dream because I can do that and kiss you maybe" is only going to creep on inquisitors he has the hots for? Come on. He's creeping on everyone, you know it.


End file.
